CSi: IN01: When Seconds Matter
by A Rhea King
Summary: This killer couple has an insatiable hunger for murder. Roving from city to city they lure policemen to their deaths. In Las Vegas, they've chosen Nick.
1. Chapter 1

When Seconds Matter

By A. Rhea King

**Chapter 1**

A black form knelt over Nick, holding a shirt against his arm.

He heard a voice tell him, "Nick, look here. Look at me."

A door opened and the large, giant dark form of a man appeared in it. The bright light behind him masked his features. He held a knife in his hand, and Nick could see the serrated tip. Something dripped from it – his blood. The man lunged at him—

The nightmare made Nick jump. He gasped for a breath. He had to get away from the man. He had to escape before the man killed him.

"NICK!" Greg yelled. "STOP! STOP FIGHTING. STOP IT!"

His voice snapped Nick out of the nightmare. Greg held of his hand over the I.V. needle in Nick's arm to prevent Nick from pulling it out during his struggle. A nurse was on the other side, holding her hand over the connections to the heart monitor to keep him from pulling them out. Nick slowly let his aching body relax and the two responded doing the same. Greg started to pull away but Nick grabbed his hand in a tight fist. Greg turned his hand so he could hold on. The nurse turned off alarms and checked connections to the pads on Nick's body. She leaned over, laying her hand on his shoulder.

"Do you want something to help you relax?"

Nick slowly shook his head. His voice cut in and out when he told her, "Something for the pain."

She turned and did something out of his sight. "That should help. Get some rest."

She left.

"Relax, Nick, you're safe," Greg told him.

"Not if the D.A. can't convince a jury they're psychopaths."

Greg smiled. "Nick, you've been in a coma for two months. You came out of it three days ago, and tonight's the first time you've been awake. The D.A. convinced a jury to put Shania, Daniel, and Mateo were psychopaths well over a month ago. You're safe."

Nick stared at him.

Greg let out a soft chuckle. "Don't look so shocked. It was a pretty open and shut case. There was enough evidence to—"

"Not Mateo."

Greg shook his head. "Nick… I know you think—"

"Not Mateo."

"He was covered in your blood."

"No. Greg, not Mateo. He didn't do this."

Greg turned and picked up a chair, moving it next to the bed. "Tell me what happened."

Nick closed his eyes for a second, and then opened them. It was too frightening to close them for long.

"I remember you calling me about a gun with his prints on it…"

#

TWO MONTHS EARLIER

Nick charged into the interview room carrying a clear evidence bag with a gun. His entrance surprised both seventeen-year-old Mateo Sacilido and the teenager's child advocate. Nick charged up, getting in Mateo's face.

"This gun was used in a murder, Mateo! Where did you get it?"

Mateo was surprised by the information, at first. Then he tried to look tough.

"I dunno."

"Damnit, Mateo, where did you get this gun? Murder isn't you. You haven't crossed that line."

"How do you know I haven't?"

Nick slammed his hand on the table in front of Mateo. "Boy, I oughta throw you in the cooler for a week until you get some sense into that head of yours! You are a smart kid! But you keep pulling stunts like this—" Nick shook the bag in front of Mateo's face, "and in another four months I won't be able to get the D.A. to look the other way. Now. _Where_ did you get the gun?"

Mateo started to speak and Nick interrupted him. "The truth, Mateo Jesus Sacilido, or I am going to tell your mother to take away all your gadgets and ground you. You are only seventeen, she can and will do that for me. Including your laptop. No more college browsing for you."

Mateo looked away to hide his embarrassment. A gang member shouldn't be looking at things like that. "I'm not looking at colleges."

"I stopped at your house before I came here to talk to your mother. She was worried you'd gotten the gun off the Internet or Craig's List, so I looked on your laptop for her. Do you have any idea what her face looked like when I told her that you'd been looking at colleges and not buying guns? She didn't know whether to be relieved or happy."

Mateo leaned forward a little. "She was… happy?"

"Yes. Tell me about the gun."

Mateo slowly sat back, staring at it. Almost muttering he answered, "Domingo gave it to me. Told me that it was kind of like an early birthday present. Something I'd need for later."

Nick shook his head, standing up and staring at his gun. "Thank you, Mateo. You're free to go." Nick headed for the door.

"Hey, CSI guy."

Nick rolled his eyes, turning. "Do you have to call me that?"

Mateo grinned. "Yeah. I do." Mateo's grin faded. "So, you, uhm… You think I'm… You know… smart?"

The question made the child advocate and Nick smile.

"Yes. Watch your back when we arrest Domingo."

"You too, CSI guy."

Nick walked into the hall, handing the bag to Greg waiting by the door. Greg fell in beside him.

Greg smiled. "You haven't laid off that kid since he was sixteen."

"He's a smart kid, Greg. He deserves a chance, but no one's willing to give it to him. I'm heading off to lunch." Nick turned off at the next hall.

Greg continued walking down the hall.

#

With field kit in hand, Nick stopped at the edge of the embankment to watch David and Office Brian Pascal in the manmade ditch below him. He called them ditches but was certain they were called something else. The ditch had a fence on both sides, but it wasn't kept up and there were large gaping holes in it. At the end of the ditch, under the twelve hundred block of Carey Avenue, was a large cement wall with a solid steel utility access door. The doors hid in plain sight all over Las Vegas, camouflaged with graffiti and gang tags – the gang's attempt to claim land that didn't belong to them.

David was crouched next to an arm, holding a black bag. Brian paced behind him like a caged animal. Nick didn't really know Brian. He knew he'd transferred from Colorado, he would be a Lieutenant once he came off probation, and hearsay said he was good at his job. That was open to interpretation so Nick didn't bother trying to figure it out.

Nick trotted down the bank to join the men. He stopped next to David, glancing back at the pacing officer. His behavior reminded Nick of a junkie going through withdrawal. Maybe he was. Nick turned his attention to David and the bloody arm before them. Something about it didn't look right.

"David… Is that…"

"A prosthetic or prop. I can't tell in the dark.

"You're joking? Why didn't you cancel the call if it's a fake arm?"

"I'm fairly certain the blood on it is real. It smells real."

Nick crouched down, sniffing. It did have the sweet, metallic smell of real blood. Nick sat his kit down and snapped off a couple photographs. He sat the camera aside and handed David his flashlight.

"Light it up," Nick ordered.

David flicked it on and held it up for Nick.

Nick pulled evidence swabs from the kit and a bottle of luminal. He swiped the swab through the blood then added a few drops of luminal. The swab turned purple-pink.

"Well, off to the morgue with it." David started to stand.

Nick grabbed his arm, pulling him back down. "Not so fast, David."

He didn't argue or ask questions. Nick boxed the swab, and then pulled out an immunochromatagraphic test wand and solution bottle. He uncapped the bottle and used a swabbed to add blood to the liquid. Carefully he added drops of the solution to the sample well. The test line appeared, followed by a second line to indicate human blood.

"_Now_ can I take the corpse to the morgue?" David asked.

"Go for it."

David handed back the flashlight, bagged the arm and headed up the bank to his van parked on the shoulder above. Nick picked up his camera and started searching the area for more evidence.

"You know, it could have been tossed from a car," Brian told him. "The only evidence you'll find here are broken bottles and empty spray cans."

"Maybe, but I have to be sure."

He heard Brian heave a hefty sigh and turned, shining his flashlight at the man. He was still pacing and despite the cool night, sweating bullets.

"Are you alright?" Nick asked.

"I can't take anymore insulin and I need food now. So no, I'm not _all right_."

Diabetes. Nick hadn't seen that one coming. He dug his keys from his pocket.

"Heads up," Nick called.

Brian looked up and he tossed him the keys.

"On the passenger seat there's a bag of tacos. Help yourself."

Brian smiled. "Thank you."

Nick nodded as he turned back to work. He glanced back when Brian returned and sat down on a slab of broken cement near the fence. The man was silent while he eagerly devoured tacos.

Nick's search came up empty at first. The ground was packed clay and rocky, unable to hold shoe or tire impressions. Nick stopped at the utility door and noticed it wasn't shut all the way. He crouched down, shining his light on the door handle. There were two bloody fingerprints on it. He photographed them and stood, pulling on gloves. Nick pressed the tips of his fingers high up on the door and pulled it open. It was no easy task; the door was heavy and unused to being opened. He finally managed to swing it back and was greeted by a billow of steam that had been waiting to escape.

Nick stepped onto the grated landing just inside the door and the view sharply reminded him of a scene from the movie 'Silent Hill.' The metal grate was only four feet wide and five feet long, and a long metal staircase descended from it. Ominous orange light came from the domed incandescent fixtures around him, hardly penetrating the darkness. From the equipment and pipes twenty feet below, clouds of steam rose. The clouds were attracted to the cooler night air, swirling past Nick as they disappeared like ghosts escaping. He walked over to the railing, looking down. He couldn't identify anything below in the dim light.

"Hey!" Brian yelled.

Nick whirled around, expecting to see a fleeing suspect. Instead, he saw Brian charging toward him. Brian grabbed his arm and pulled him back outside.

"What are you thinking?" Brian demanded.

"What?"

"You are not going into a poorly lit stairway to Hell without me, got it?"

Nick moved back a couple steps when Brian pulled his gun from the holster and flicked off the safety.

"I tell you are a disaster magnet, so I go first." Brian tapped Nick's chest, Nick's keys jangling from the finger he'd looped through the keyring. "CSI follows. It is my job to get shot first and your job to shoot back. Got it?"

Nick grinned. "Sure, Brian. I'd be happy to let you get shot first."

Brian tossed Nick his keys.

With a smile, Brian informed him, "It's a good thing we didn't run into each other in Carbondale with that smart mouth. I'd have arrested you for being _cocky_." Brian keyed his shoulder mic. "Officer Pascal to dispatch."

Over the mic a man replied, "Dispatch. Go ahead."

"CSI Stokes and I are going into the utility access tunnels in the twelve hundred block of Carey Avenue. Be advised we will be out of communication range and will check in when we get back in range."

"Understood, Officer Pascal. Dispatch out."

Brian entered the utility entrance and started down the stairs. Nick followed him, looking at the staircase as they descended.

"Is Carbondale a suburb of Denver?" Nick asked.

Brian laughed. "Hardly. It's just over one-hundred and seventy miles from Denver."

"Oh. So—" Nick stopped when he spotted a bloody palm print on the topside of the handrail. "Hold up." Nick photographed it and then crouched, finding fingerprints on the underside. He photographed them.

"The direction of these fingerprints point up. Whoever left that arm might have come this way. Or the victim could have—"

"Hey, CSI guy."

Nick _really_ hated that nickname. "Yeah?" He looked up at him.

"While fascinating and all," Brian started with a grin, "you're geekdom baffles and confuses me, and makes me sleepy."

"I feed you and this is how you treat me?"

"Yep."

"Maybe you should wear a sign? Don't feed the officer. He becomes mouthy."

Brian started walking down the stairs. "Yes, but that would scare away the criminals. We'd be unemployed. Cats and dogs would get along. It would be anarchy!"

Nick grinned. He was actually enjoying Brian's humor now that he was feeling better.

"I thought you said I couldn't be left alone."

"Don't worry, Nick. The stairs won't bite. You're safe."

Nick laughed. He stood and continued slowly down the stairs. At the bottom he found Brian sitting on a pipe and staring at the floor.

He was about to step off the last step when Brian told him, "You are about to step right on evidence. You're a terrible CSI, know that?"

Nick pulled his foot back, looking down. There was a blood drop on the floor starting a trail that led toward a tunnel.

"Be right back," Nick told him and dashed up the steps two at a time. He grabbed his kit and sat it inside the door, then pulled out a stack of markers. He went back down and the two followed the trail as Nick dropped markers by each drop.

"So what was Carbondale like?" Nick asked.

"Oh… Your typical, small, tourist mountain town."

"How long were you on the force there?"

"Sixteen years"

"So why'd you leave? Did you get tired of the snow or tourists?"

"Neither. My wife left me for the mayor. I wanted the hell out of there."

Nick stopped, staring at him. Brian shrugged as he continued walking.

"I'm sorry I asked. I didn't mean—"

"Why? I could have told you to mind your own business. Besides, karma got even for me." Brian chuckled and it sounded vindictive. "He was fired after I left and they were pretty much ran them both out of town. Now he's working on a pig farm out east and she's a waitress. And if you had any idea how much that woman hates to work, you'd understand why I relish knowing she's getting _exactly_ what she deserves."

"Vindictive, but letting karma avenge you is always sweet. Did you get a good reference from the sheriff?"

"I _was_ the sheriff."

Nick stared at him. "You were the sheriff and you quit?

"It wasn't just that. Three months before I chased this suicidal gone homicidal local moron into a gold mine and in a moment of Devil driven glory he grabbed a stick of really old dynamite sweating nitroglycerin."

"This didn't end well, did it?"

"No. I turned tail and ran, which the idiot thought was because of him. I was about two hundred feet from the entrance when he blew himself up and caved in the entrance. I was in there for four days and almost died. After that, I wanted less responsibility and some time to myself."

Nick muttered, "I can relate."

"I bet you can."

The trail turned into a side tunnel with no lights. Brian and Nick turned on their flashlights and shined them down the tunnel.

"Not to sound all scared and such," Brian began, "but maybe we should call for backup before following a trail of blood down a dark, foreboding tunnel."

Nick grinned at him. "I'll protect you from the boogieman, Brian."

He looked sidelong at Nick. "I'm pretty sure I don't like you anymore."

Nick shrugged before he started walking. He slowly swung his light side to side in search of evidence, and keeping his eyes on the blood trail as he dropped markers. Somewhere behind the walls fans came on, drowning out all other sounds.

Nick heard Brian say something. "What?"

When Brian didn't say anything else he just assumed it had been another joke and kept searching.

A voice behind Nick suddenly screamed, "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Nick turned, his flashlight reflected off metal as a bar flew toward his head. He jumped back, feeling the air move past his face as the bar passed within inches of it. His attacker recoiled, hitting his wrist and knocking the flashlight out of Nick's hand. Now he saw that the attacker had on a headlamp, giving him the advantage. Nick threw the markers toward the attacker's headlamp and fumbled for his sidearm. The strap was being obstinate and unyielding to his shaking fingers.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" the shadowy figure bellowed.

The bar suddenly connected with Nick's shoulder, nearly knocking him off his feet. It shot pain through his arm and into his spine. His gun came loose suddenly and he raised it to aim as the bar connected with his wrist again, flaring pain through the bones in his arm and fingers. He dropped the weapon. It hit the floor and went off.

The attacker made a solid connection against Nick's hip, sending pain radiating across his pelvis, groin and up his spin to join the first wave of pain. He tried to stumble away from the mad man.

"AAAHHHHHRRRR!" the man cried and started dealing blow after agonizing blow, beating Nick to the floor.

Nick didn't notice the dim light quickly filling the tunnel around them.

"STOP! DAD, STOP!" a woman's voice screamed.

"THEY ARE IN MY HOUSE!" the man bellowed.

Nick tried to get up and scramble away. The man swung the bar like an underhanded club swing and connected against the hip he'd struck before. Nick cried out, collapsing to the floor.

"Daddy, stop. Stop hurting him. Watch? Watch, Daddy."

Nick turned his head and saw a cloth coming at him. It broke loose memories of a hand snaking around a car seat to press an ether soaked cloth against his nose and face.

His mind let out a silent scream. '_NOT AGAIN!_'

He came up fighting with adrenaline-induced strength. He easily tossed the woman holding the cloth aside and then he attacked his attacker. Crazed man and panic-stricken CSI fought with everything they could get their hands on, bloodying each other and the floor around them. Nick's health and age was his trump, and he forced the man to the floor with his hands wrapped around his throat.

The battle ended abruptly when something stabbed the back of his neck. One minute he was strangling the life out of his attacker, the next the world stopped and he dropped.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Greg and Langston followed Detective Williams off the shoulder of Carey Avenue and down the slope to the scene below. Dozens of officers swarmed around an ambulance. The area had been lit up with construction work lights on generators, adding to the noise of voices. Greg glanced across the ditch. A group of on lookers stood behind the crime scene tape, attracted to the police lights and activity; among them Mateo Sacilido. Greg looked away. The kid wasn't any different than anyone else – drawn to the scene of death and destruction no matter who was involved. The three reached the bottom as two paramedics emerged from the door with a gurney and someone on it. A hush fell over the policemen as the paramedics passed. Without seeing who was on the gurney, Greg knew it was Officer Pascal. It was the only thing that would silence the other policemen so quickly.

"Go with Officer Pascal to the hospital. Start processing him on the way," Greg ordered Langston.

"Who?" Langston asked.

Greg pointed at the gurney being loaded.

"How do you know—"

"The paramedics won't wait for you, Ray."

He didn't argue. Greg headed for the door and underground in search of his friend.

#

Nick tried to move his arm out from under him, but found his wrists were bound behind him. He opened his eyes and tried to get up, discovering his ankles were bound with a zip tie. A rag had been knotted and tied around his head to gag him. He started to struggle and quickly was reminded of the beating. His body ached in every joint and muscle. He was thankful he'd managed to keep the attacker from hitting his head; it was the only thing that didn't hurt.

Nick slowly sat up against a wall and got a bearing on his surroundings. The room looked like a Victorian sitting room. The furniture was wooden antiques and the chairs had hand-stitched covers. The dark red wooden table was centered in the room had light colored inlaid wood designs. Somewhere nearby a record was playing. He could tell it was a record from the hiss, pops, and occasional skip. Bare bulbs, utility pipes, and the plain grey cement walls broke the illusion of a sitting room.

The door opened and he watched his crazed attacker enter. Now that he could see him, Nick knew he would have guessed this man was not right at first glance. He was unkempt and filthy. His stringy blond hair hung as long as his beard was crusted and had unintentional dreadlocks. It was the man's eyes that would have set of Nick's caution alarm – they were the wide, angry eyes of someone who wanted the entire human population to suffer.

He walked to a tall, narrow cabinet, lifting the top. Nick had seen a Victorola once and recognized the object as one. The room door opened again and a woman came in. She was a tall, thin, young, and homely thing. Her clothes were worn, but she was clean. Her long blonde hair hung past her waist in two braids. She was carrying a sandwich on a plate and a glass of water.

"Lunch is on the table," she told the man as she passed.

He turned suddenly and yanked the plate from her hand. She turned to face him.

"That's for him," she told the man, pointing at Nick.

"No food."

"He needs—"

"NO FOOD!"

She didn't argue, but looked like she wanted to. He grabbed her arm, pulling her to him when she tried to pull away.

"Did you really think I was going to let you keep him?"

He stormed out of the room and something glass crashed in the next room. She turned and walked to Nick, kneeling next to him. She removed the gag, and then put her finger to her lips.

"Talk quiet," she told Nick. "He doesn't like loud voices and he hates men. Don't give him a reason to kill you."

Nick said nothing. She lifted the glass of water to his lips, but he stared at her. She pressed it against his lip, tipping it so the water started flowing. He drank the entire glass, but didn't take his eyes of her. She sat the glass in front of her, staring at it.

"You're looking at me like you're blaming me for this."

"You helped him."

"I had to." She looked up at him. "He would have killed you if I hadn't."

"Some daughter-father relationship you got there."

"He's not my father. He kidnapped me years ago because he thought I was his daughter."

Nick weighed his options. He could believe her, but his gut and instincts were telling him she was lying. He wasn't sure about which part, but he couldn't trust her. So he would pretend until he could figure out how to escape.

"That's awful. Why don't you run away?"

"I can't. He watches me all the time."

"Why don't you cut me loose? I could go get the police and get you out of here."

She shook her head.

"Do you have any idea how bad he'd beat you if you got loose and he caught you? You'd never survive. He wouldn't stop this time."

"Shania, come eat," the man called.

"What's his name?" Nick asked.

"Daniel." She stood with the glass. "Keep quiet. I'll think of something. Trust me, okay?"

Even if trust was the last thing he planned on giving, Nick nodded. She left the room, closing the door behind her. Nick tried to struggle again, but his bonds weren't giving and he hurt too much to continue.

#

Greg dipped an evidence swab in the blood at his feet and held it up, staring at the chokeberry red substance. In the work lights that had been setup in the tunnel, the trail Nick had been following was clearly visible. Greg looked at the two distinct crime scenes. The first was where Officer Pascal was found. The second he assumed was Nick's blood. Wendy would be able to determine that once he got the samples back.

Greg placed the swab in a box and dropped it in his field kit. He wanted to work faster, but knew better. Grissom had taught him that the fastest way to find a missing person was to go slow. The one detail he might miss may be the biggest lead he could find. Greg grabbed swabs with plastic caps on them, his camera, and started following the blood trail.

He had just passed the lights when someone yelled, "SANDERS!"

Greg turned, watching two officers stomp up to him.

"What in the _hell_ are you thinking?" one bellowed at him.

"What?"

"We've already lost one of you. Let's not go for two."

Greg hesitated, and then he turned around and started walking without a word, knowing the officers would be right behind him.

As light from the work lights faded, Greg snapped on his flashlight. The tunnel ended at a lit junction and the trail turned right. Drag marks began, hiding the blood drops, but ended abruptly at a lift shaft. Greg stepped up to the edge, looking down. The first three lights were on but there wasn't enough light to see the bottom of the shaft or the lift he suspected was waiting down there. Greg stepped back, looking at the call button. Blood was smeared across it, so whoever left the arm or attacked Pascal and Nick, must have pushed it. He pulled latex gloves from his pocket and put them on, then pushed the button. Nothing happened so he tried again. Still nothing happened.

"Hold this," Greg ordered, handing his camera to one of the officers.

The man took it and Greg dropped to his stomach at the edge of the shaft. He grabbed a bar and inched forward.

"Sanders, this is a really bad idea," the officer said.

"When it's your partner missing, you can tell me what risks to take," Greg snapped back.

Neither one argued.

Greg probed the dark underside of the shaft with his flashlight, and found what he suspected was there. Blood had congealed along the edge where the blood drag marks ran over the edge.

"Can one of you get an evidence swab from my back pocket, uncap it, and hand it to me?" Greg asked.

"Got it," he heard Riley's voice answer.

He felt her pull a swab from his pocket and she leaned over to hand it to him. Greg put the flashlight in his mouth and swabbed the blood, then handed it back to her. He push/pulled himself back and got to his feet. Riley held out the swab.

"Did you come to pick up evidence?" Greg asked her. He took his camera back from the officer holding it and replaced the memory card with an empty one in his vest pocket.

She hesitated. "N– No."

"I have a lot that needs to go back so the techs can get started on it, and I can't leave until I can follow the trail down this shaft – that could be hours."

"I came to help you. Why don't you—"

In a very uncharacteristic moment fueled by concern and fear for Nick's life, Greg snapped, "I wasn't asking!"

She stared at him.

Greg looked down, forcing himself to add calmly, "Every hour that passes is one hour we're less likely to find him alive. We have to start processing evidence and I have to wait for the lift to be fixed to continue following the blood trail."

She held her hand out for the card. "Pictures should go too."

Greg gave her the card and she left.

Greg turned his attention on the officers. "I need this lift working. The trail goes down it."

"We'll have to call utilities," one of the officers told him.

They turned to leave, but stopped when Greg didn't follow.

"We can't do that down here. We have to find a service phone."

"Then go find the phone and get someone back here to fix this lift. This is where Nick's trail ends, this is where I'm waiting."

His response didn't make either of them happy. They looked at each other.

"I'll stay," one said.

The other left to find the phone. Greg turned, looking down the shaft. He suspected that somewhere down there was Nick.

#

Boredom had made Nick resort to mental karaoke to keep himself entertained and awake. It felt like days had passed since he'd been kidnapped but there was no way for him to tell. Shania brought him water regularly and a piece of fruit every so often, claiming she had to sneak it in. He didn't believe her, and the little bit of food did nothing to satisfy his hunger. Daniel rarely came in, and if he noticed Nick at all it was to curse or throw something at him. Nick had learned to keep as silent as he could to avoid any confrontation with the deranged man.

The door opened and Nick looked at it. Shania came in with a sandwich and glass of water – what was she up to? She sat down next to Nick and held the sandwich up for him to bite into. He didn't accept it.

"Won't you get in trouble?" he asked her.

She whispered. "He's sleeping. Keep your voice down and eat."

Nick didn't object, and neither spoke until he'd finished the sandwich and glass of water. She sat the glass down and sat next to him, too close for his comfort.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Okay."

"You look better."

He didn't say anything.

"You still don't trust me, do you?"

Nick didn't answer.

"He's asleep right now… I'll cut you loose, but you're going to have to run. He's a light sleeper, and if he catches you again, Nick, he'll kill you. I won't be able to stop him."

Nick nodded. She got on her knees, pulling a pair of children's scissors from under her shirt. She began cutting the zip tie with the dull scissors.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"

Shania spun to her feet, staring wide-eyed at Daniel. He stood in the door, glowering at her. He reached outside the door and came back in with a crowbar covered in dried blood. What scared Nick was he couldn't defend himself with his hands still tied behind his back and the tie around his ankles still.

Shania moved to put herself between Daniel and Nick.

"No, daddy. His ankles were bleeding. I was going to put on a new one. I'll do anything if you don't hurt him."

Daniel stopped, lowering the crowbar. "Go the bedroom. I'll tie him up and be in."

Shania didn't move.

"You said _anything_." Daniel told her.

Nick caught the insinuation in Daniel's tone.

Shania looked down at Nick. He knew she didn't mean _anything_. Slowly she moved away, turning her back on him. Daniel charged toward them, but he didn't go after Nick. He grabbed her arm and drug her out of the room. The door slammed shut and yelling erupted in the next room. It ended abruptly.

Nick pulled his ankles apart and moved his legs, trying to work through the uncut portion of the tie. It gave and he kicked it away. Nick climbed to his feet and walked to the door, listening. He didn't hear anything. He searched the room for anything he could use to cut the tie around his wrists. There was nothing. Nick slowly turned and looked down at the Victorola. On second thought, maybe there was…

He turned his back to it, pushed the lid up, and then turned back around. He considered breaking a record. They were thick and would be good, but… Nick glanced at the door. That would be sure to bring them running. He twisted his hands around to try feeling what his hands were bound with. It felt like another zip tie. He looked down at the thick needle on the arm. Maybe, if he could perforate the tie enough, he could pull it apart. Nick turned sideways and twisted, working at getting the lock around the arm to hold it in place. He put his back against the Victorola and slid his hands under the needle. He felt the needle slide through the plastic and had hope this might work. He glanced at the door, praying for time.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The CSI were coming up with dead end leads. Catherine had several pictures hung on the layout wall that she was examining for any overlooked clue about who had taken Nick. Behind her Langston, Hodges, and Riley were going over the evidence: Nick's gun, his bloody vest, torn pieces of denim they assumed were from his jeans, and one of his sneakers. But so far the kidnapper had been careful not to leave incriminating evidence like Nick's past two abductors. This one had no interest in giving away his identity or where Nick was.

"Uhm… Catherine."

The four looked up, staring at Wendy. She stood in the door, holding a case file in her hand that contained a dozen printouts.

"DNA?" Catherine asked, holding out her hand.

Wendy approached her, handing over the folder. Catherine opened it, starting to skim the information.

"Why'd this take so long?" Catherine asked.

"There was a lot of DNA to process. The arm had human and feline DNA. Blood at the lift was from seven different males, including Nick. The blood at the first attack scene was just Officer Pascal's, but there was a trace amount of his blood at the second attack scene. Nick's made up the larger amount at the second attack scene."

"That would mean the attacker transferred it from Pascal to Nick," Langston said. "And from Greg's photographs and measurements of the scene here, I don't believe he lost enough to endanger his life. Maybe make him a little lightheaded."

Wendy looked down. She had been here for the other two kidnappings too, so Catherine wasn't sure if it was a memory or what she hadn't said that made her look ready to cry.

"What is it, Wendy?" Catherine asked.

"With both Pascal and Nick's location, there was DNA from an unknown second male donor. I gotta hit on it, but…"

"But what?" Hodges asked.

"The attacker's blood has been found at twelve crime scenes across the country, all involving police officers. The police officers were missing for four days to a week. When they were found, they'd been severely beaten. Seven were dead when they were found from blunt force trauma to the head. Two died in the hospital weeks later, same cause. Three are in comas and being kept alive by mechanical means." Wendy bit down on her lip to keep from crying. She cleared her throat, continuing. "No one knows the attacker's identity, motive, or how he got his hands on the victims."

"We know how he got his hands on Nick and Pascal," Riley said. "They were following evidence. I could contact the investigator on the other cases and see if the other officers had reported following evidence, leads, or calls."

She slowly nodded, handing the folder to Riley. She took it and left the room.

Her voice cracked when she told her, "Keep looking, Wendy. See if you can't find something, anything, that could help us."

Wendy nodded, leaving. Catherine laid her hand on the light table, aware that Langston and Hodges were watching her.

"Keep looking. I'll be back," Catherine said, and left.

Hodges did as he was told. Langston watched him.

"She doesn't normally take cases this hard. Are she and Nick close?"

Hodges looked up at him. "She's only worked with him a few years, so what do you think?"

"I didn't mean to imply—"

"Doesn't matter what you meant, it won't find Nick. This will." Hodges motioned at the evidence. Then he turned back to it.

Langston was silent for a few seconds. Quietly he added, "Nick has always been very patient with me. I'm sorry I offended you with what I was asking."

"Yeah, well, Nick's a lunatic magnet. If you believe in that whole 'third time's a charm,' maybe this will be the last time he'll be kidnapped."

Langston smiled.

"I'll hold out that hope too, David."

The conversation ended as the two continued their meticulous search for evidence.

#

Catherine burst into Ecklie's office, already starting to cry. He watched her close the door and drop into a chair.

"Can I stay here for a few minutes?" Catherine whispered.

Ecklie nodded. Catherine leaned over, letting the sobs come. Ecklie grabbed a box of tissues from his desk and walked around to her, crouching next to her chair.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Wendy matched DNA from Pascal and Nick's attacker to a series of murders. The attacker kidnaps policemen, a few days later they're found left for dead, if they aren't already dead. No one knows his identity and we have _nothing_ to find him, Conrad. Nothing!"

He sat down in the chair next to her, laying his hand on her back. "I wish I could do more."

"You've already called in all the techs and CSI you can. The entire police force is on the look out for him. If this guy wants him hidden until he's ready to leave him dead or half-dead…" Catherine started crying harder. "Our job isn't supposed to be this dangerous, Conrad! We're supposed to go in after the criminals are cleared. What the hell was he doing in that tunnel?"

"Following the evidence. Doing his job. Our job is very dangerous, Catherine. Don't delude yourself by thinking otherwise."

She nodded, but it didn't stop the tears. Ecklie stayed at her side, dolling out tissues as she went through them.

#

Greg didn't look back at the officers trailing behind him. He knew that the blood trail had ended four tunnels ago, but he was determined to find Nick. He slowed to a stop and stared at the blank cement wall. That's how he suddenly felt; blank and devoid of any inspiration. The feeling had come over him when Catherine had arrived before the lift was fixed and told him what they'd learned from the trace – which was nothing. This person had no intention of suggesting where Nick was. They weren't trying to toy with the CSI or the police. They only wanted to make Nick suffer and kill him. Make him a statistic in Las Vegas.

Greg didn't turn his head when one of the officers walked up to him.

"I think you know what I'm going to say, Sanders," the man said.

Greg didn't say anything.

"The trail just stopped. We saw it, and we know you did too. I think it's time to prepare for the worst."

Greg didn't move. The officer sighed and walked back to his partner. The two whispered for a few minutes and then were silent. Greg continued to stare at the wall. If only he could had x-ray vision…

#

Nick had poked his fingers and hands so many times his hands were wet with warm blood, but the zip tie was finally starting to give. He pulled away from the needle and twisted his wrists until the zip tie gave suddenly. He walked from vent to vent until he found one that looked large enough for him to climb through. He only hoped it would stay that way once he was in. Course, the real problem was the screws. He didn't have anything to unscrew them. Or did he? He patted his pockets, discovering he still had his keys.

Nick reached in his pocket as the door opened behind him. He spun, grabbed a chair, and kept spinning. He brought the chair solidly across Daniel's face, throwing him against the wall. He lifted it to bring it down on Daniel when something hit him between the shoulder blades. Nick turned and caught the crowbar in the legs of the chair as Shania brought it down. He looked down, seeing Daniel was shaking off the daze. Nick lifted the leg with his only shoe and slammed the heel against Daniel's temple. It knocked him out, and Nick knew it was temporary, so he had to take care of Shania fast.

Nick worked his way around to the door as she tried again and again to hit him with the crowbar. He swung the chair, slamming it against her small body. The chair cracked and broke, but the force of the blow sent her flying across the room. He threw the two parts of the chair he still held and ran out of the room, spotting a door.

Nick burst into the tunnel beyond. He heard footsteps behind him and glanced back. Shania was right behind him, still armed with the crowbar. A lunatic smile had replaced the timid little girl she'd pretended to be.

Nick turned a corner, running right into Daniel. He swung his fist to punch him and Daniel caught his wrist, snapping the end of a handcuff on it. Nick tried to struggle free but Daniel had anticipated this fight. He gave the cuffs a hard yank, forcing Nick to stumble forward, so he could snap the other end of the cuffs around a pipe. Nick hit the pipe and immediately pulled back from the hot metal. He turned his head and Shania's crowbar caught him under the chin, slamming his head against the wall. Nick threw up his arm to block another strike. She laughed gleefully, slamming the bar against his arm. Pain seared as the radial and ulna bones cracked under the pressure.

"You policemen are all the same. You think you can get free and escape. You die just like those you put in prison," he heard Daniel lecture. "Taste your mortality!"

Nick tried to keep his arm up to protect his head but the second blow snapped the radial and ulna. Another powerful swing broke his humerus in four places. He was defenseless to protect his head from her attack.

"Kill him baby!" Daniel cheered. "Beat in his skull!" Daniel laughed.

Shania hit in the head again and again. He slid to the floor, his other arm hanging from the handcuffs. He tried to keep focused, but his mind was determined to pull him away from the horror of what was happening. His thoughts became disjointed. He wondered why he'd never taken that walkabout trip to Australia. Why hadn't he ever asked any girlfriend to marry him? Why did Grissom think he had to leave? Why did Warrick have to die?

Somewhere out in the distance, away from the safe room his min had put him in, he heard Daniel laugh, "Kill him, baby! Kill him!"

Nick slipped into the blessed black abyss of unconsciousness.

#

It was difficult to pull his consciousness back into his body. It was like a feral dog locked in a kennel with a person trying to catch it. But Nick didn't want to be left where it was dark, so he fought with it until he was able to flutter his eyes open. Dim incandescent light and blurry vision made everything around him look like a frightening monster. The largest concentration of pain had moved out of his joints into his head. The pain throbbed to the slow beat of heart. The organ was trying to drag life through his body even as life drained from his wounds, ears and nose.

He could smell cooking meat close by. Nick slowly turned his head, grinding bleeding wounds on the cement under his skull. He whispered something incoherent unaware he was doing it. Nick's eyes went to his arm. It took him several minutes to realize it was his handcuffed arm resting against a hot pipe had caused a blistering third degree burn. Nick jerked to pull back and immediately regretted it. The sudden movement sent needles of pain into muscles and bones and nearly took his breath away.

Nick slowly moved his body so his arm wasn't against the pipe. He turned his head again. With his vision still blurred he had a hard time making out small details more than a few inches from his face. He didn't see anything he could use to pick the handcuff lock. Slowly it dawned on him that he had a handcuff key on his keyring in his pocket. Nick started to twist to pull his keys out and snapped the last bit of bone holding his forearm together. He screamed and started crying. It was the last straw. He didn't care. He just wanted to lie there and let life ebb away.

"It's just pain."

Nick looked up. Someone leaned against the wall across the hall. With his blurred vision he couldn't see their face.

"Help," Nick called.

"Get the keys, Nick. Reach across and get them."

"My arm's broken. Help me."

"It's going to hurt, but you have to do it."

"I can't."

"Nicolas Stokes, reach your arm across and get those keys. NOW!"

Nick reached across, cry harder as nerves drug across the broken bone inside. But he finally was able to get the keys and pull them out with a hooked finger. He laid still for a minute, letting the pain ease some. Then he reached up. His broken arm made it difficult to make his fingers work but slowly he was able to slide the key in and force it to turn. The handcuff fell open and his arms dropped to the floor. He screamed when his broken arm hit and began sobbing.

"Get up, Nicky."

Nick looked up. He knew that face but it shouldn't be here.

"You're dead," Nick whispered. "Warrick's dead."

"Yeah."

"You can't be talking to me."

"Am I? Talking to you? You know you gotta get up, man. Get up and start walking."

"I'm tired."

"You have been through worse. Not sure when, but we'll think about that while you walk. Come on. Get up."

Nick sighed. Warrick was dead. This hallucination wasn't going to convince him to save his own life.

"There are people who need you, Nick. You can't give up. You have to help catch Shania and Daniel. That's what you do. Now get your ass up!"

Slowly Nick pulled himself to his feet. He whispered curses and whimpered. On his feet he found his leg felt like Jell-o. A single step made him stumbled and grabbed a pipe to catch himself. He quickly let go when he realized it was hot and pushed his hand against the wall instead. For several minutes he stood still, trembling from weakness and shock.

"Just one foot in front of the other, Nick. We'll take them together. Let's get moving."

With one unsteady, shuffling step at a time he started walking, keeping his hand against the wall. And the ghost of Warrick followed, encouraging him to keep moving.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Mateo Sacilido laughed and joked with other gang members as they drank beer and spray painted the utility entrance wall and door n the fourteen hundred block of Cheyenne Avenue. One of the boys next to the door stopped suddenly, stepping back.

"What's wrong?" another asked.

"The handle just moved."

"You're drunk."

"I am not!" He stepped forward as the door flew open, hitting him in the face. He fell back, landing on his butt.

The others quickly fell back, staring at Nick. He leaned against the doorframe and didn't seem to notice them. His shaking had become worse and what skin wasn't covered with blood was ash white.

"That's that CSI that's missing," one of the boys whispered.

"Come on. We gotta bail."

They started to run for a hole in the fence. Mateo slowed to a stop, watching the others go through. He turned, watching Nick. Using the wall to support himself, Nick was moving slowly up the bank toward the fence. Bu there was no hole on that side for several hundred feet.

"Mateo, come on!"

Mateo looked up. The gang was waiting for him. He looked back at Nick. Mateo inhaled deeply because he was about to do something that was more frightening than anything he'd ever done in his seventeen years. He turned his back on the gang to help Nick.

"Mateo, what are you doing?"

Mateo didn't answer or stop walking.

"Leave the cop, Mateo. Just let him die. One less problem for us."

He wasn't about to leave Nick and didn't stop until he was next to Nick. This close he could see how badly injured the CSI was. He took Nick's wrist and pulled his arm over his neck.

Nick panicked and tried to pull away. He whispered, "Get away! Get away!"

"It's okay CSI Guy. I've got you. Come on."

"Mateo?"

"Yeah. Come on."

Nick relaxed, leaning on Mateo for support.

The teenager turned him and looked up – the gang had abandoned him. Mateo walked Nick up the opposite bank and through the hole in the fence. The two staggered up the road to the sidewalk. Mateo sat Nick on the curb and then stood, looking both ways. There wasn't a car in sight.

"My phone picked a fucking good night to die," Mateo hissed at the night.

He turned, staring down at Nick. It would be easy to abandon the injured CSI by the road and let someone else help him. But as much as Mateo wanted to do that, he couldn't. Nick was always there. When Mateo called him to bail him out of trouble or pick him up when he was drunk, Nick always came. There was usually a lecture attached, but next to his mother, Nick was the only person in the world that believed and trusted him. Secretly, especially the last few months, Mateo found himself thinking more often how Nick was probably his only true friend.

The teenager crouched down and laid his hand on the side of Nick's head. Nick's head drifted toward it, resting against it. Mateo sat down next to him, putting his arm around Nick and letting him lay his head against his shoulder.

"What happened, Nick? Tell me who did this to you."

"Daniel. Shania. They're crazy," Nick told him. "They just killing to kill. Crazy."

"Tell me what they look like. I'll cap their asses for you."

"No ass capping."

Mateo wanted to argue, but he knew better. Besides, he didn't know that he really had the nerve to shoot anyone.

"What they look like?

"They're both blonde. Shania's 160, 170 and five two. Daniel's six foot, over two hundred. Dirty. Hair's tangled."

Mateo laid his hand on the side of Nick's face, looking into his eyes. "I'll tell them, Nick. Relax now. You're safe with me."

Nick barely nodded. "I'm so tired."

Mateo moved around and laid Nick down on the sidewalk still warm from the hot day. He then reached up and pulled his bandana headband off. He hesitated, staring at it, but one look at Nick's bloody face convinced him to stay committed to saving the CSI. Mateo bandaged Nick's head with the bandana. He pulled his flannel shirt off and used his switchblade to cut the shirt into strips. He carefully wrapped Nick's head and burned arm. He used a few straps to make a sling and carefully put Nick's arm in it.

Mateo looked up when headlights flashed across him. He stood, watching it come toward him.

"There's a car coming, Nick. Hold on."

Mateo waved his arms. Suddenly blue and red lights came on and the car slowed to stop in front of him. Mateo waited next to Nick, unwilling to leave him alone. The car door opened and an officer came around into the headlights – with his gun aimed at Mateo.

"Against the car," the officer ordered.

"I didn't do anything! It was Shania and Daniel!"

"Get against the car now."

Mateo didn't move. He was torn between staying with Nick and avoiding arrest.

"I'm sorry, Nick," Mateo whispered, and bolted.

The officer chased him. At the bottom of the ditch he tackled the teenager to the ground. The officer drove his knee between Mateo's shoulders to force him to stay down.

"I didn't do anything!" Mateo told him. "I was helping him!"

"Covered in blood? I doubt that."

They heard the sirens of an ambulance coming down the street. The officer grabbed Mateo's arm and hauled him to his feet. The two started up the bank to the street. Police cars and a CSI Denali were right behind it, quickly blocking the street. Greg and Riley climbed out of the Denali, watching Mateo as he was led past. Greg turned away before Mateo looked up, focusing on helping to save his friend's life.

#

Mateo shook his leg while he waited in the interview room. Two days ago he had been charged with kidnapping, aggravated assault, attempted first-degree murder, and aiding and abetting. His lawyer was pushing to get bail set until the trial, but Mateo knew this act. They were dragging their feet until the evidence proved he had hurt Nick. And now he was back in this room, waiting for someone. His lawyer sat next to him; a small man who had just graduated from law school and seemed uncomfortable about representing Mateo.

The two looked up when the door opened. Greg and Catherine walked in, sitting down across from them. Catherine sat a folder on the table in front of her.

"How's Nick?" Mateo asked.

"Feeling guilty?" Catherine asked.

Mateo narrowed his eyes. "I did not hurt him."

Catherine pulled out pictures of Mateo's clothes, laying them out. The front of the clothes were covered in Nick's blood.

"How did you get his blood on you, your clothes, under your fingernails, in your hair and on your face?"

Mateo glanced at his lawyer. The man just stared at him.

"Like I told you that night, lady." Mateo looked back at her. "Nick came out of the utility door and he was already hurt bad. So I walked him up to the sidewalk. He was too weak to make it up on his own so I had to hold him up. That's how I got all that blood on me."

"We went into the utility tunnels, Mateo. We found a couple drops of blood at the top of the stairs, but nothing else. And your gang, Mateo, they say they weren't there that night. Which leaves you there, by yourself, and an injured CSI. So do you want to try that statement again?"

"I told you he was hurt when he came out. I don't know where he was hurt at. And I don't give a shit if my gang backs me up. They're assholes and I want nothing to do with them. I could'a used their help that night and the bailed. The hell with them!"

Catherine stared at him a moment. "You gave the statement that night that…" She opened a folder, pulling up a transcript of their interview. "Nick was conscious until the police car showed up." She looked up at Mateo. "And he gave you the descriptions of your accomplices."

"JESUS! They are _not_ my accomplices. Why isn't anyone listening to me? I told you, he was conscious when he came out of the door. He talked to me some, told me their name and their description. I promised him I would tell you that."

"So you could get away while they went to jail?"

"NO!" Mateo bellowed, standing up. The door opened and an officer stepped in. Mateo leaned across the table. Calmer and quieter he told her, "You never believed in me. No one here ever believed in me. Nick did. I. Would not. Hurt. Nick. He was hurt bad when he came out of that door. I helped him to the sidewalk and he was awake until the officer showed up."

"How convenient," Catherine commented.

"If you're innocent, Mateo, why'd you run?" Greg asked.

Mateo fell back in the chair, looking down. "Cuz I'm…" Mateo shook his head.

"You're what?"

Mateo shrugged a little. "Cuz I got spooked. The officer ordered me against the car. He saw the situation play out just like it has. None of you believe me, me ending up in jail because of it. Nick…" Mateo made a face, forcing back tears. "Would have believed me," he whispered.

"What?" Greg asked.

Mateo didn't answer.

"What did you say?"

"Nick was wrong."

"Wrong about what?" Catherine asked.

Mateo quietly answered, "It doesn't pay to do good."

"So you did hurt him?"

Mateo glared at her. "Talk to my lawyer. I'm done."

The statement surprised the young lawyer. He looked at Mateo and then Catherine.

"You heard him. We're done," the lawyer said.

Catherine stood and left. She turned at the door to talk to Greg and found he was still sitting at the table, staring at Mateo. Greg got up and left the room, closing the door behind him. The two started walking.

"You think he's innocent?" she asked.

Greg shrugged.

"Greg." She stepped in front of him, looking him in the eye. "Whose side are you on?"

"The side of the evidence. We can't find where Nick was beat, none of the three will tell us where it is, so we have to go with what we have. What we have says Mateo was involved."

"And that's it?"

He looked away. "Catherine, Nick has always read people, knew who was trustworthy and who wasn't. I just… Are we saying that all these years he's been wrong about Mateo?"

"Yeah. I guess we are." Catherine turned and walked away.

Greg followed. What she said did little to console him. Nick had never been wrong about a person before – not like this.

#

PRESENT

Armed with field kits, Catherine, Riley, and Greg led a detail of six police officers through the utility tunnels. He in turn was following the bloody handprints that began four tunnels away from the stairs. Blood drops started shortly after that, getting larger until they were following a solid trail. The signs were becoming clear that the evidence that had put Mateo in jail was perhaps wrong. It made sense too – most of Nick's wounds were internal. The bleeding from his hands, nose, and ears would have had time to coagulate before he reached the surface, hiding where he had been attacked.

The trail ended abruptly at a large spot of dried blood.

"This is where he was beat," Catherine said. "He said he ran down a tunnel, and the room had Victorian style furniture. This dead ends and we have four tunnels leading off, so let's split up and start looking for the room."

The officers and CSI split up. Greg took the last tunnel, and spotted a door that wasn't shut all the way. Greg pulled a glove from his pocket and pushed it open. Inside was an abandon break room. A cheap table with plastic chairs sat in the middle of the room. Against the wall was a full mattress with dirty blankets on it. There was a door at the back that stood open and exited into the tunnels – was that how Daniel had gone out and caught Nick as he'd escaped? There was another door to his left that was half open. Greg slowly approached this second door and pushed it open with a glove.

The Victorian sitting room.

"Tell them I found it." Greg told an officer before he continued.

He walked over to the Victorola and let out a slow breath. Blood and a blood coated zip tie sat on it. Greg spotted the broken chair Nick had used to fend off Shania and Daniel. He walked over to the opposite wall, staring down at the cut zip tie and rag with a knot in it.

"Mateo will be glad we found this place," Catherine said from behind Greg.

Greg looked back at Catherine. They were the only two in the room.

"Sometimes the innocent looking ones are innocent, aren't they?"

She turned to him. At first he thought she was going to be angry, but then she smiled.

"You believed Nick even when the evidence said something else, didn't you?" she asked.

"He's never been wrong before."

She nodded, glancing out the door. Quietly she added, "Between us, I'm glad I was wrong."

Greg smiled. He sat his kit down on the floor, preparing to start gathering evidence that would exonerate Mateo.

#

Nick moved slowly down the hall with the nurse at his side. It had taken a lot of begging to convince his doctor to let him get out of bed and go for a walk, but it had been worth it.

"Do you feel tired?" she asked for the hundredth time.

Of course he felt tired! He'd been in a coma for two months. He had fractured ribs and a broken arm. He had a fractured skull, and bruises on top of bruises.

"I don't want a wheelchair."

She smiled. "That wasn't the question, Nick."

"I'm avoiding the question. We're just a few more doors. I can make it."

She didn't argue the good point. They turned into his room and found Mateo waiting in a corner. Mateo offered a smile that Nick reflected it. The nurse helped Nick pull off his robe and climb back into bed. She reattached lines to machines to monitor him and pulled his covers back over his legs.

"Do you need anything?" she asked.

"Ginger ale would be nice."

She nodded. "Coming right up. Lunch should be here soon, too."

Nick watched her leave, and then looked at Mateo.

"Hi," Nick said.

Mateo came out of the corner, walking up to the bed.

"You look like hell," Mateo said.

"Feel it too. I was thrown out a second story window once. That pales in comparison."

Mateo smiled. He didn't comment about how Nick's job was supposed to be safe like most people did. Maybe he didn't know most people made that false assumption.

"Thanks for telling them the truth about me, Nick."

"You don't have to thank me. You didn't do anything wrong, Mateo."

Mateo suddenly hugged Nick and it was almost too tight. Nick reached his arm around the teenager, patting his back.

"You don't know how you looked. I was scared you were going to die on me."

Nick hugged him. "I'm fine now. I'm okay."

"No your not!" Mateo stood up. "You're in bandages and gotta cast on your arm and your face looks like someone took a baseball bat to it!"

"Crowbar."

Mateo hesitated. "Seriously? A crowbar?"

"Seriously."

"You're lucky you wasn't killed!"

"I'm lucky you were there to help me. Greg told me you bandaged me up and flagged down the police car."

"I would have flagged down any car. Didn't know it was a police car. The asshole coulda asked me instead of just jumping to the idea I was hurting you."

"Did you like being in jail?"

"Hell no!"

Nick grinned. "Then my evil plot worked perfectly."

"What plot?"

"I told you that you'd hate jail and someday I'd put you in there just so you'd get a taste what it'd be like if you didn't straighten up your act. See? I kept my promise."

Mateo laughed, playfully slugging his arm. "You're an asshole, know that?"

Nick nodded. "That's my job. I'm the CSI guy, remember?"

Mateo shook his head. "That's not what happened, but I don't want to go back there. So, that guy you work with, Greg, he told me I'd make a good paramedic. What do you think about that?"

"I think you would be an excellent paramedic. And anyone who only missed four questions on their GED test like you did, shouldn't have much problem memorizing all those medical terms."

He beamed. "I'll try it. I can always change if I don't like it."

"You can. I'm proud of you Mateo."

He looked down, embarrassed by the compliment. "Mom said that, too, when I told her."

"Your mom loves you. She wants the best for you."

Mateo looked up at him. "Is that what you want too?"

"Yes. I know you hated me riding you all these years, Mateo, but I was worried that one day I'd be trying to solve _your_ murder. I want you to be safe and happy."

"Is that how big brothers think of little brothers?"

"I have enough of big brothers that I can honestly say that's _exactly_ what big brothers want for little brothers."

"Then we're brothers."

"I can handle that."

"Cool. Well, hey, I gotta get. They called yesterday and said I blew the top off the entrance exam, except English, so I can start on core classes. Me and mom are heading over there to register for their paramedic degree."

"If you need help, you call me. I know things. Deal?"

"You gotta deal. See you tomorrow, Nick." Mateo waved as he walked out.

Nick waved back. Did Mateo know just how proud he was of him? Did he know how happy Nick was to hear he had given up life in a gang – a life destined for an early death – to pursue something Nick knew he'd love and excel at? Maybe one day he might.

"Isn't it funny?" he heard a voice ask.

Nick's heart skipped a beat. He slowly turned his head, staring at Warrick sitting on the windowsill.

"You aren't real," Nick whispered to the hallucination.

Warrick smiled. "Then how come you keep seeing me?"

Nick couldn't answer that. He didn't know why.

Warrick walked up to the bed. "Isn't it funny that it took you almost dying to make so many good things happen? Imagine how I felt. I actually died for that to happen."

"Nothing good came out of your death."

"The under sheriff was caught."

"That would have happened anyway. You didn't need to die."

"Nick?"

He turned his head. The nurse stood in the door staring at him, a cup with a straw in one hand, his Ginger Ale in the other.

"Who are you talking to?" she asked.

Nick looked back. Warrick was gone. He closed his eyes.

"Myself," Nick told her.

She walked in and sat the glass down.

"Yourself or an hallucination?"

Nick looked at her. How had she guessed?

She smiled and it was sweet, but it said something. "You need to tell your doctor about it. With your head injury, it's important he knows you're having visual and audio hallucinations."

Nick smiled. "I was talking to myself. I do that sometimes."

She didn't look convinced.

"Seriously. I'm fine."

She nodded, but was still unconvinced. "Call me if you need anything."

Nick watched her leave, and then looked where Warrick had just been. He wasn't about to admit to anyone he was seeing and talking to a dead man.


End file.
